The Night Tiger: A Novel

by Yangsze Choo

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He swung a small sandaled foot, frowning. “Nobody else has ever shown up the way you do. They all come by train. But you just … appear. That’s good, I think.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you came by the train, you’d be like all the others. Like me.”

  I was bursting with questions, but he glanced at me, shaking his head slightly.

  “Is Ren going to die?”

  “I don’t know.” That pensive look on his face. “The train’s gone. That means another one will be coming soon, but I don’t know who’ll be on it.”

  “Is that what you did? You got off at this station by yourself?”

  “Yes. A long time ago. We were twins, Ren and I.”

  Twins. “Like Shin and me. We’re not really twins but we were born on the same day.”

  “I don’t know Shin,” he said frowning. “He doesn’t dream like you.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I said slowly, remembering the paper amulet Shin’s mother had given him. A charm against nightmares to call the mo, that black and white beast of a dream-eater, to gobble them up. Though if you called the mo too often, it would also devour your hopes and desires.

  Yi said, “So that makes four of us. Did you find the fifth one?”

  “I think so.” I thought back to William Acton, and how Ren had said the Li in his name stood for ritual. Order. Something bothered me about it. Perhaps it was because he was a foreigner, and I couldn’t understand how he had a Chinese name.

  “I told you, there’s something wrong with each of us. Things won’t go the right way.”

  “What am I supposed to do? And what about the finger that Ren gave me?” I’d hidden it, rolled up in my bloodstained dancing frock when Hui was in the bathroom.

  Yi sighed and swung his short legs. “That’s his master’s business. Do what you think is right.”

  Alarm was rising in me, like a distant thin bell that was starting to ring. No, had been ringing for some time now, except I hadn’t been paying attention. “Look at me, Yi. Why aren’t you more worried about Ren?”

  He hunched over, twisting his body away as though he couldn’t bear to look me in the eyes. All of a sudden, he was a child again.

  “You’ve been waiting for him to die, haven’t you?”

  That guilty, guilty look. The scrunched-up, miserable face, about to cry. I wanted to shake him, but I’d never touched him before. Not even that time when I’d been chased out of the water by the black shape in its depths.

  “How could you?” I said bitterly. “Your own brother.”

  He was bawling now. Shoulders shaking, fists curled into his eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to. At least, not in the beginning.” Hiccupping. Smearing the tears across his face. “I love Ren. He’s everything to me.”

  “Why did you stay then?”

  He shook his head. “We’d never been apart before. And I knew he was miserable without me. How was he going to manage alone? So when the train crossed the river, I got out. This is the very first stop on this side. I’m sure there are better places farther in, but I didn’t want to go without Ren.”

  “And so you stayed.” I looked hard at him.

  “I wasn’t the only one. There are always a few of us who get off. You saw them before.”

  I remembered the distant figures of people wandering this shore the first time I had drifted down the river.

  “In the end, however, they all give up and go on. There’s no point, you see. From this side, you can’t call anyone over or talk to them.”

  I watched him carefully. “But you could.”

  He nodded. “We’ve always had this twin thing. When I got off the train, I found that I could still feel it. Very faint, like a radio signal. So I didn’t go on. Not as long as I could still sense Ren at the other end.”

  He looked so small and pitiful: a child who’d been waiting for his brother for three years. Waiting alone, on a deserted shore. My heart went out to him, but at the same time, I knew that what he’d done was horribly wrong.

  “I found that as long as I’m here, I can call him to this side of the river and then things happen to him. Accidents and stuff. Sometimes, I think I’ll get on the train and go away. But I always chicken out. I don’t want Ren to forget me.”

  “I don’t think he’s forgotten you.”

  But he wasn’t listening to me. “At first I thought I’d just watch and wait. Sometimes I can see bits of what he’s doing. Then I realized I’d have to wait a long, long time if it was going to be the rest of his life. And Ren is always changing. He’s growing up. One day, he’ll forget all about me.”

  “So you tried to lure him over?”

  Yi turned to look at me. There was such misery in his eyes I couldn’t be angry with him. “I thought we’d be happier together. But I’ve never managed to get him over. Not really. Though just the other night he had a high fever and he showed up on that sandbar.” He pointed to a thin sliver of white in the river.

  “He wanted to cross over. He did! He even jumped in by himself. I was terrified because of the water. There’s something in it, that’s made so that people can’t swim back to the other side.”

  I shuddered at the memory of that black shape, rising from the depths of the water.

  “But I made him go back. There’s no use coming that way. He would have just separated from his body and it would be even worse.”

  “Like a coma, you mean?”

  Yi blinked. “I don’t know what that word means.”

  “When your body’s alive but the mind is gone.”

  “Yes. Then we’d both be stuck here waiting for his body to die.”

  “Well,” I said wearily, “you’ve got your wish. Your brother is dying right now.”

  Yi dropped his head. Stared miserably at his feet.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  He burst into tears again. “Yi means righteousness. I’m supposed to be able to choose the right thing, but I can’t!”

  “Don’t cry,” I said, resisting the urge to hug him. Now that I knew exactly where I was, I had a tingling sensation of danger. “You meant well.”

  “But that’s not good enough!” he shouted, rubbing his red, anguished face. “Meaning well isn’t the same as doing the right thing. Maybe we’re all cursed. We should have all been born together in the same family, or even as the same person, not separated like this by time and place.”

  The five of us should have made a kind of harmony. After all, weren’t the Confucian Virtues supposed to describe the perfect man? A man who abandoned virtue lost his humanity and became no better than a beast. Dazed, I wondered whether that was happening to all of us.

  “It’s all a problem with the order—the way things are being bent and rearranged. The further each of us strays, the more everything warps,” said Yi miserably. “And the fifth one is the worst.”

  “What are you saying?”

  But he was fading. The world was fading back to grey, and struggle as I might, I could only gasp and thrash as my mouth and face were covered with a choking softness.

  “Yi!” I screamed. “Leave Ren alone!”

  30

  Batu Gajah

  Sunday, June 21st

  Ren’s eyes flutter open. Close. Open again. There’s a dryness in his mouth, a thick feeling in his head, as though someone has stuffed it with cotton wool. An unfamiliar face swims into view. A foreign woman, her hair pinned severely back with a white cap.

  “He’s awake.”

  Another face. It’s William. Mouth tight and strained. Two lines are etched deeply under his eyes. “Ren, can you hear me? We’re at the hospital.”

  The hospital. That explains the feeling of empty air around him, the hollow length of a hospital ward. The bed is bigger, too, longer than the cot Ren sleeps on. There’s a heaviness on his left side, and he can’t feel his arm at all.

  “Does it hurt?”

  Under the layers of numbness,
there’s pain in Ren’s body. A deep ache that’s buried by some artificial means. The light is bright; it’s daytime already.

  “Mr. Acton, you’d better go home now.” It’s the nurse. “You’ve been here all night.”

  “Just a moment, Sister.” William turns back to him.

  How strange. Ren can see all these threads coming from William now. Gossamer threads that spew out, like the unraveling of a silkworm. He’s never been able to see them before, only felt their spark of energy. But now his cat sense is stronger than ever, or perhaps it’s just that his body is so broken. He knows it without even looking at William’s haunted face.

  “Ren, I’m so terribly sorry. I shot you last night.”

  So that’s what it was, the flash and the roar that tore him apart. Ren looks at William with wide, unblinking eyes.

  “But you’ll be all right. Well, almost. You’ve lost a lot of blood but we managed to take out most of the shot. It was the wadding around the shot that really worried me—infection in the soft tissues, you know.” William’s jaw is moving like a clockwork toy that’s been wound too far.

  “Mr. Acton!” It’s the nurse again. “That’s quite enough!”

  William stops. Passes a tongue over dry lips. “Yes, of course. If you need anything, let me know.”

  It’s hard to speak; Ren’s throat is so parched. “Nandani,” he says. His eyes signal a question.

  William stares at him blankly. “Ah. Nandani. I don’t know where she is. Don’t worry—she’s bound to turn up.”

  No, you have to find her! Ren’s anguished expression cuts like a knife. William makes a tight grimace. “Of course we’ll find her. All right? Just … rest now. It’s very important that you get some rest.”

  * * *

  Ren sinks back into half sleep. Dimly, he’s aware of doors opening and shutting. The sun climbs higher then starts to wane, though Ren doesn’t know what day it is. Somewhere, his body is getting weaker and colder, or is it feverishly hot? His painful side is examined, the bulky dressing on his arm unwrapped.

  “—bleeding again. Looks bad.”

  “—risk of infection.”

  * * *

  Ren closes his eyes. Behind them, another landscape unfurls, bright and burning like a fever dream. And there it is, the tiger that he’s feared for so long. It stands before him, unbelievably large. Lean muscular bulk tapering into a twitching tail. This isn’t the moth-eaten, forlorn tiger skin that’s stretched out on the floor of William’s study, or the wraithlike white creature Ren has imagined, wandering in the jungle with Dr. MacFarlane’s face. It’s simply a huge, bright beast. An animal that he cannot comprehend. Surprisingly, Ren feels no fear, just an overwhelming sensation of relief.

  So that’s what you are, he thinks, though it seems undignified to address it.

  The stripes on its brilliant coat ripple; the yellow eyes glare like lanterns. Ren can only drop his gaze. The tiger makes a deep hrff sound. Then it turns and walks away, with a deliberate tread that’s heavy and delicate at the same time. Where is it going?

  In the shimmering landscape, Ren sees a familiar shedlike outline—a railway station, just like the one he boarded at Taiping when he took his first and only train ride after Dr. MacFarlane’s death. It seems quite natural to follow. He takes a step forward. Then he remembers something.

  “Nandani—where is she?” he calls after the tiger.

  There is no answer, only the white tip of its tail swaying hypnotically. Then he sees them: the uneven tracks of a woman’s feet. Slender, pretty footprints, the left leg dragging in a limp.

  “Is Nandani here?” If she is, she must be heading towards the station. Ren takes another step. The tiger turns its head and snarls. Is that a warning? Ren doesn’t know, but his side hurts, a fiery pain that spreads through his body, up his useless left arm and hand. Gritting his teeth, Ren forces himself to walk on, following the footprints towards the train station.

  31

  Ipoh

  Sunday, June 21st

  A crash. The breath was knocked out of my body, my face pressed against a hard, cool surface. For a moment I lay there, motionless.

  “Ji Lin—are you all right?” Hui stood over me; I was lying on the floor of her room, tangled up in the thin cotton blanket. The sun streaming into her room was high and hot.

  “You fell out of bed, having a nightmare,” she said. “Thrashing and crying about someone named Yi. I was afraid to wake you.”

  Chinese people have an aversion to suddenly waking people from sleep, in case the soul separates from the body. I hadn’t thought that Hui would be so superstitious, though I was grateful for it. Who knew where I’d been wandering?

  I sat up groggily, my thoughts a nest of ants. I had the feeling that I’d almost managed to grasp something slippery, the tail end of an idea that had vanished with a flick, just as Yi’s crying face had.

  “What’s wrong?” said Hui.

  I glanced at the blue dress I’d worn last night. Still neatly rolled up on a chair, just as I’d left it. I didn’t want to tell Hui about the finger in its glass bottle. It would only upset her. There were other, more pressing worries. Like whether Ren had survived the night, and what to do with the slim glass vial wrapped in my bloodstained dress.

  * * *

  And so, the finger had returned to me. I examined it with a feeling of inevitability and horror when Hui had gone off on an errand, after lending me a frock. It was the same, down to the number on the lid and the slight dent on the metal screw top.

  Dr. MacFarlane’s finger, Ren had said before he ran out into the night. How had it found its way from the pathology storeroom, where I’d left it, to last night’s party? I felt sick. If only I’d stopped Ren from rushing out. Or if I’d shouted louder as William Acton walked purposefully out of the house with his shotgun tucked under his right arm. The trail went round and round, the finger appearing and reappearing—yet I had the dim sensation that there was a pattern to all of it. When I’d asked Yi what to do with it in my dream, he’d seemed strangely uninterested. Do what you think is right, he’d said. But perhaps it was just because all he really cared about was Ren. And Ren, as we both knew, was dying.

  * * *

  Restless and agitated, I headed over to the May Flower. Perhaps Kiong had further news of what had happened to Ren. It was nearly noon; the dance hall wasn’t open yet, so I let myself in through the back door and waited in the corridor outside the Mama’s cramped office. It was a squirrel’s nest with a desk piled high with papers, but I knew better than to underestimate her. She was an excellent businesswoman.

  Kiong wasn’t around, said the Mama, but she was well aware of last night’s fiasco.

  “Is the boy all right?” I asked, unable to hide my concern.

  “No idea. But likely he’s still alive since no one’s come to look us up yet. We didn’t get paid, either. Well, that’s why I don’t like doing private parties. I heard you saw the boy who got shot. Was it bad?”

  I nodded, not wanting to talk about it.

  “Poor child.”

  “I don’t think I can work here anymore.”

  Now seemed as good a moment as any to quit. I was unlikely to find another part-time job that paid as well, but it wasn’t worth the risk. I’d ask Robert to lend me the money.

  She didn’t look surprised. “Thought you might feel like that. Well, I won’t say I’m not sorry—you’re one of my best girls on the afternoon shift. If you change your mind, let me know. Can you pitch in once more next Saturday, though? I’ll be short a couple of girls.”

  I nodded. As I left, it occurred to me that this was one of the last times I’d walk down the grubby mint-green corridor. All the laughter and comradeship, the sore feet, and the slapping away of wandering hands would come to an end. Though perhaps it was better this way.

  32

  Batu Gajah

  Monday, June 22nd

  Everything is falling apart, thinks William.

  It’s
Monday morning now, and he’s headed back to the hospital to check on his small victim. For victim is the right word. Over and over, William has replayed the scene from that night: Ah Long taking him aside with the news of the tiger in the garden, the feverish excitement that descended on the whole party, and himself, unlocking the gun closet to get his shotgun. Why, why did he think of that?

  It’s not as though William hunts much; the Purdey is another expensive Acton relic, like the good silver and crystal glasses that he’s lugged halfway round the world. Why bother, when his family has as good as disowned him anyway? It’s because titles and breeding open doors everywhere, even if he pretends to scorn them. Perhaps that’s what drove him to get the gun out: thinking it would be a grand gesture to fire a few rounds into the darkness and scare off a tiger. What a fool he is!

  All his mistakes have been made when he’s been overly emotional. In fact, he had misgivings earlier that evening, but he’d thought it was about Nandani and how he must disentangle himself from her. When he walked out of the house, the gun under his right arm in the field carry that his father had taught him so long ago, he had another moment of doubt, but it was too late, even though the girl had screamed for him to stop.

  How had she known, that girl Louise, that the rustling in the bushes was Ren, and not an animal? If he closes his eyes, he can still see her, running out of the darkness into the pool of light spilled by Ah Long’s lantern. Pale blue dress, face tight with terror. And even then, the dark part of himself that he’s always tried to suppress found her panic alluring, with those slender legs and long-lashed eyes—like a frightened doe.

  Thank God he’d loaded it with number-six shot. If it had been buckshot, even at that distance and with the inevitable scatter, Ren would certainly have died. Rawlings said it was one of the messiest injuries he’d seen on a child. One of the fingers on his left hand had been shot raggedly off. The fourth finger, the ring finger. William finds himself wondering illogically whether that means Ren will never get married because there’s nowhere to put a ring. But such thoughts are useless because Ren, inexplicably and despite all the care that he’s had, is dying.